


Management

by Stegowrites



Category: Final Fight (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stegowrites/pseuds/Stegowrites
Summary: Sodom and Belger have a meeting to discuss matters of business when the fight money doesn't roll in like it used to. Mostly a story about Begler being an awful person. Set prior to the events of Final Fight.





	Management

Sodom entered Horace Belger's office shortly after midnight, wincing from the ache in his back as he bent below the doorframe. Horace could smell the sweat and blood on him immediately, that overpowering stench of combat. He wrinkled his nose, brushing his hands over the sleeves of his shirt as if to remove a filth that had settled there by the man's very presence.

"You're running late, Sodom," he spoke calmly, looking up at him with his best impression of concern, "everything all right?"

Sodom stopped before his desk, dipping into a low bow as he muttered an apology, "Very sorry, Belger-sama, I came here as soon as I could..."

Horace smirked at the theatrics. Sodom was quite a... _unique_ member of Mad Gear, that was for sure. But at least he was _strong_ , strong enough to make him good money from fights in the underground arena culture, facing off against young punks whose anxiety manifested as raw violence. An entirely valid survival tactic, as far as Metro City was concerned. Horace, of course, survived the city in his own way, a way that benefitted from the disorganized rage of the youth, and he took pride in that. It was the sort of advanced thinking that had brought human beings out of their animalistic past, to become the sophisticated creatures of the modern day. It was a shame that many humans still remained dumb brutes, but Horace couldn't complain about the lack of competition.

"That's all right, Sodom. I'm a patient man. How about your winnings?"

Sodom held out a wrinkled envelope, at which time Horace could see the dark purple bruises around his cracked knuckles. His fingernails, too, were a filthy reddish-brown. The blue metal of his gauntlets was dented and scratched, matching the damage to his helmet that left one corner of his face exposed. Not that he could make out much of his appearance, what with the grotesque swelling around his eye. _A dirty job, but someone has to do it_ , Horace thought as he took the envelope with a nod. He made a show of peeking in at the neatly-folded bills, furrowing his bushy eyebrows and pursing his lips in a deep frown of disappointment. "Coming up a little short again, I see..."

Sodom once more lowered himself, his face nearly touching the surface of Horace's stout desk. "Forgive me, Belger-sama. Please, it's just... the fighters you've asked me to compete against are... quite skilled."

Horace shrugged, turning to glance out the broad window pane that overlooked the lights of the city below. "I'd allowed you the opportunity to join Mad Gear with status because I had confidence in your fighting abilities... If it's too _difficult_ for you, I might be able to assign you to an alternate job to make up the difference..." he left this off with a long pause, allowing Sodom to apply a meaning to his words as he saw fit. The nervous tension was evident in his reply.

"N-No, I can do this, I just need some time to train..."

"The trouble is," Horace growled, turning back around to face him with a sharp _hiss_ of his motorized chair, "'time' isn't exactly something that I have to spare. I'm a busy man, you know. While you dirty thugs are out there in the streets, I'm up here taking care of the business that keeps everything afloat!" He then let out a long sigh, his tone softening, "But like I said, I can be patient. It's hard out there, believe me, I get it! You know I'd be out there, nobly fighting alongside you if it weren't for... you know..." he accentuated his point by solemnly running a hand over the frame of his wheelchair. Sodom said nothing, but made the sound of a choked gulp. Lucky for Horace, it seemed that he was a _sympathetic_ fool in addition to being a strong one.

"Now..." Horace mused, stroking his beard, "what could we do to help improve your success output? You don't happen to have any other fancy Japanese weapons, do you?"

Sodom glanced down at the jitte that hung loosely from his belt. "I... also have a pair of katana, but I'm not sure that wielding something so lethal against unarmed opponents is honorab--"

"You have _swords_?!" Horace laughed with exaggerated amusement, "That's incredible! My goodness, you must be _quite_ the samurai!"

Sodom flushed where his skin was not already red from his wounds. His posture straightened, his expression relaxed. He chuckled in both relief and solidarity.

"Katanas!" Horace exclaimed, "I like this idea! You're brilliant, Sodom! Brilliant!"

"Thank you, sir!"

"In fact, let's set you up with some _real_ fights. The real money-makers. You're going to do well for Mad Gear's reputation, you know that? No one's gonna screw around with a strong and brilliant sword-swinging samurai in my city."

Horace then reached into the envelope and removed a small wad of bills. "Here," he added, tossing the lump onto the desk, "buy yourself a hot date, or... some saké or something. Whatever it is you're into."

Sodom bowed again and accepted his cut of the money graciously. As he began to make his leave, Horace called back to him. "By the way, if you see Rolento, tell him that he's falling behind on his earnings as well. Don't hesitate to use those katanas of yours to get the point across, either."

"Yes, of course, Belger-sama!"

It wasn't until Sodom had thoroughly exited his office that Horace began to make a proper count of the money, his expression locked in a smug grin.

"Fucking idiot."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after way overthinking small details about Sodom's character, such as "why does he use swords in Final Fight, but less so by the time he's in Street Fighter?" Maybe the answer lies in him being pressured by his superiors, who exploit his fighting skills and obsession with Japanese culture for money? Darker themes than I'm accustomed to writing, but if it's any consolation, I like to think that he still uses katanas after the disbanding of Mad Gear, but this time on his own terms.


End file.
